It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Would you have been on a ship? Or back home complaining?
Goodbye, Merlin (2003-2022)
Your healing can begin with Political Junkies Anonymous
Race discrimination: Sometimes evil, but sometimes praiseworthy?
My father’s embezzling started and ended my media company
Hearing what your gut whispers might save you from wrong path
I accept others’ amateur media, but I expect myself to be a pro
Just $12 fed mom and her girls, but bigger challenges lie ahead
Has my ‘insanely great’ servant slowly become a digital master?